o-o post #1

I don't prize much in the way of material objects. I'd like to say it's because of my free spiritual nature, my detachment from the physical, my independence from the all mighty drive of capitalism: Getting Things. The truth is, however, that I break and lose things, especially important or expensive things. However there is one object which effects me and the course of my life in a very real and daily way. This object is my Rochambo coffee mug. It stands out in the cupboard or the dishwasher, blue and white with the pictures of what seem to be hip trendy kopeli men discussing something vital over a cup of java. Almost constant use has caused the picture to wear away revealing the solid white plastic that makes up the body of the cup. The word ROCHAMBO is illegible now, though anyone who knows what it means would recognize it instantly. It's the name of a coffee shop where all the hip kids hang out with the grizeled hippies. It's right around the corner from my house back in Milwaukee, and frequent gathering place of my friends, the caffiene addicted youth. However artsy and pretentious the coffee shop is, the Mug isn't much to look at. It's hard pastic, holding just over four and a half cups of liquid, with scratches and stains on the detachable lid. what it lacks in luster, it makes up for in dependability. it's been dropped off tops of buildings, thrown across fields, filled with boiling liquid, survived more than one time through dishwasher on the "EXTRA HEAT" setting, and kept me awake, at any and every hour of the day, through the worst of crisies and stresses, and through the sunniest of mornings.

I love my coffee cup. And I think, deep down, it loves me back.